


Strangers

by BirdOfHermes



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attraction, Bachelor Party, Dirty Dancing, Drinking, F/M, Light Angst, Lust, Lust at First Sight, Missing Scene, Partying, Pole Dancing, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampires, White Court of Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 08:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17556884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdOfHermes/pseuds/BirdOfHermes
Summary: Harry and the alphas are at Billy's bachelor party and Harry just so happens to meet a dancer who wants to give him a little something extra. Takes place directly before the short story "Something Borrowed" in Side Jobs. Missing scene.





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> *throws an evil side-eye at dameonstarflame* Ahem.
> 
> So remember how I've been experimenting in this tiny fandom?
> 
> Well, I done did it again.
> 
> But...honestly, this is different from the Harry/Reader fics I posted. I became struck with this idea one night chatting with DSF about the mental image of Harry freaking Dresden in a freaking strip club. I mean, yes, he and the alphas are drinking, but I still feel like he would be so very...Dresden about it that I couldn't help following the thought with a fic. At first, I thought it would be comedic, but then I sat and thought about it in depth, and I think it brings up an interesting conversation about Harry's iron grip on his emotions, and lust most of all, which is deeply explored in the series. So...yeah, this seems like a weird way to talk about that, but here we go anyway.
> 
> Oh, and this is indeed an AU because I switched the order. Word of Jim says "Something Borrowed" happened between Death Masks and Blood Rites, but this version of that scenario takes place after Blood Rites, so he's already found out all the White Court stuff and met Lara.

_When your baby leaves you all alone_  
_And nobody calls you on the phone_  
_Doncha feel like crying?_  
_Doncha feel like crying?_  
_Well, here I am, honey_  
_Come on_  
_Cry to me_  
_-"Cry to Me" by Solomon Burke_

Bachelor parties are uncomfortable.

Well. Maybe just for wizards. Or me. You could argue either, really.

But the good news was that I hadn't been shanghaied by an acquaintance or something--I was among friends. Good friends. Therefore, I was still uncomfortable but not to the point of cold sweats or anything. Alcohol helped. A lot. Billy and his friends were very vehement about its consumption during the course of the night, so by the time the pack had split up for private dances, I'd had enough to relax a little bit.

To their credit, we were at a respectable strip club. I'd seen the greasy spoon ones, where you were too afraid to touch any surface and took a boiling hot shower once you went home. This place had been recommended to me by Thomas and I'd told Kirby about it since it meant we'd get a discount. He agreed and made it happen, but it also put me on high alert. I trusted my brother without fail, but if he liked it, then it meant I couldn't exactly put my guard all the way down. He'd never put me and the guys in harm's way, but that didn't mean harm wouldn't find us nonetheless.

Or more precisely, me.

I sat at the bar with my beer, keeping an eye on the guys at a respectable distance not to pry or be a voyeur, but close enough to intervene if something happened. The strippers were all young and gorgeous, and Kirby had apparently been given some kind of portfolio to choose the ones he wanted. We had the whole joint to ourselves--courtesy of a favor from Thomas, as a wedding gift--and access to ten different girls, each insanely gorgeous, each with her own unique look and gimmick. They'd done a big burlesque themed opening number--after all, we do live in Chicago, so why the hell not?--and then separated into bachelor games and then we'd done some body shots, and now we'd reached the private dance portion, hence why I fled.

Don't get me wrong. I'm just a red-blooded heterosexual man like the rest of them, but something about the private dances make me a little squirrely. I'm bad enough with women as it is. Add in drinks and nudity, and I pretty much can barely function.

Which was exactly how the White Court vampire found me.

She'd caught my eye from the second I saw her lower her decorative feather fan she'd danced with in the opening act for the evening. She was unmistakable. Pale skin as always, but her hair was actually a rich coffee hue with burgundy at the ends. She had a little mole to one side of her full, heart-shaped mouth and long legs and just... _everything_. Like someone had gone to an all-you-can-eat buffet made of gorgeousness and piled their plate as high as possible. What's more is that while the other girls were certainly athletic and moved gracefully, she was the true dancer among them. I could tell she'd gone to school for it and had been classically trained, maybe an ex-ballet performer. Honestly, while I'd almost drooled into my beer bottle, I'd actually just enjoyed the show.

To her credit, she wasn't obvious about it, and I didn't catch her trying to feed on any of my friends, and maybe that was why she appealed to me. She waited until they were all taken care of before striding through the rosy lights over to the bar and stopping just short of touching distance. She had two Jello shots with her, and her eyes twinkled with allure and mystery as I faced her.

"Mr. Dresden," she said with a lazy jaguar smile. "You're not participating."

"Damn, you know me by name," I said. "I must be getting a reputation."

She laughed softly. It wasn't a Lara Raith laugh or anything, but it still made me fidget as certain unseemly parts of my body began to stir. "It's a good thing, in your case. Lara speaks well of you. So does Thomas."

I eyed her. "Is that right?"

She shrugged one bare shoulder and set the shots on the top of the bar. "You seem to have this habit of stopping their opposition here and there. It's a useful trait."

"Well, anything to help the White Court." I made sure to be as sarcastic as possible. Her smile widened into a grin. She had dimples. I wanted very much to kiss them both. Down, Harry.

"That's why I'm here," she said cheerfully, nudging the shot forward with one polished nail. "I need your help."

"I'm off duty," I said, polishing off the beer and pointedly not accepting the shot.

"Not work-help," she said. "I'd like to dance."

"Then wait 'til one of my friends finish up. Trust me, the guys'll want an encore."

"Not your friends," she said, leaning forward, her dark lashes hooding her grey eyes. "You, Mr. Dresden."

Blood stirred even more in those same unseemly places. I cleared my throat and tried to assert logic over the situation. "And why is that, exactly?"

"Well, for one, I hate to see the responsible guy at the bachelor party. It's a little lonely if you're always on duty, taking care of your friends. For two, I saw the way you watched my routine. You enjoyed it. Not in the normal way. In an...appreciative way. That's rare. I don't get many who come for the art."

She paused, glancing over me. "And it also looks to me that you need to relax."

I gestured to the bottle. "S'what the beer is for."

She shook her head. "That's to keep you from getting nervous. I want to relax you, Mr. Dresden."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll be alright."

She exhaled and leaned in enough that I got a whiff of a light perfume. Jasmine, maybe. Again, I fought not to drool. She really was a masterpiece, vampire or otherwise. "I'm not asking you to trust me, Mr. Dresden. From what I hear, you've tangled with some very dangerous creatures, and you have every right to be cautious. Paranoid, even."

She flicked her gaze up at me, and this time, I heard the sincerity in her tone. "This isn't a trap. This isn't a scheme. Your friends are safe. And Thomas is a friend. I'd like to dance for you. Nothing more, nothing less."

I swallowed hard. I'd listen to people lie for years, straight to my face, over the phone, in all kinds of ways for all kinds of reasons.

But...she wasn't lying.

She watched me for a moment and then smiled again, patting the bulky spot underneath my coat. "You can even keep the blasting rod if it makes you feel any safer."

"Like it would make a difference," I muttered hoarsely.

She trilled that laugh at me again. "I know, but it's the thought that counts."

She lifted the shot glass. I eyed her again, and then picked up the one she'd offered me. We clinked them together.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Belle," she said, and then we both took the shots. Belle extended her hand. Heart in my throat, I took it. Nothing happened--no insane rush or overwhelming, dying need to press up against her. Just warm, soft fingers. She led me through the tables to a private booth along the wall. There were plush cushions surrounding the semi-circle, which cut off the noise and the music from the other parts of the room, and made it feel intimate. It also meant I could dart out of here in a hurry if need be, and I could still be in the vicinity of my friends if they needed me.

Belle drew a dark curtain across the opening to the booth that gave us a reasonable amount of privacy and gestured to the center of the seat. "If you will, Mr. Dresden."

"Harry," I said as I sat down.

"Harry," she echoed, as if sampling my name. "May I ask you something?"

"Can't guarantee I'll answer, but sure."

She glanced over me. "Has it been a long time since you've been with a woman?"

I gave her a mysterious smile. "What makes you say that?"

"Your posture," she admitted as she slipped off her sparkly heels. She still wore the red flapper girl bustier and garters, and both had my full attention even as she plucked the heels up and sat them on the cushion. "Your movements. One thing you get used to in this job is men not looking at your face, and yet you've been looking at mine ever since you saw me. You like the rest of the view, of course, but I'm not used to so much eye contact, which means it's definitely been a while for you, as you seem to be restraining yourself very strictly."

I didn't let anything show on my features. "Cute."

She shrugged. "I'm not trying to be cute, Harry. Just honest. I'd like it if we were on the same page."

"Which is?"

She smiled. "You're supposed to look. To feel. To enjoy. Outside of here, sure, it's rude to stare and to lust and to want."

I tensed a little as she strode towards me and leaned in, her hands gently resting on my knees. I tried not to shift too much, but she had me dead to rights. Hell's bells, I was nervous. It had been a while, after all, and I was on edge to say the least, and not just because she was White Court.

"I want you to look," she whispered. "To feel. To enjoy. It's not unwanted attention, Harry. You are a rather desirable man, and it's quite rare that I reciprocate an attraction. I have no agenda. I just want to dance for a man that I find fascinating. Understood?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat that had to be the size of a golf ball. My voice sounded like it had been shredded with a serrated knife of some sort. "Understood."

She flashed me that brilliant smile again. "Good. Do you like music, Harry?"

"Who doesn't?"

Belle nodded as if confirming something in her head. "Right answer."

She walked over to the wall where there was a small speaker with a couple of buttons. It was built into the cushion, so there was a decent chance I wouldn't explode it. She twisted the little knob a few times until she heard the right click. A big band with brassy opening notes filled the air, keeping with the whole Chicago-vibe they'd been going after, although I could tell it wasn't a song from the soundtrack.

Belle stood there and lifted her hands to the back of her bustier, which zipped rather than having a complicated network of ties. As she unzipped it, her silken voice joined the music.

_"You had plenty money 1941..."_

I almost fainted as I recognized the song choice: "Why Don't You Do Right?"

Or, to the more common man, the song Jessica freaking Rabbit had been singing in the infamous scene of _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_.

Hell's bells, she was good.

 _"You lost it all, and then away you run_  
_Why don't you do right_  
_Like some other men do?_  
_Get out of here_  
_And get me some money too..."_

The bustier parted, revealing the long, creamy expanse of her spine, and another bra beneath it. She let it drop with a breathless little sigh and rolled her shoulders in another one of those feline, graceful movements. My already tight pants just got even damned tighter, and she hadn't even done anything yet. I was going to pass out at this rate. Maybe I needed more Jello shots. Or to take a dip in Lake Michigan.

She swayed slightly, gently, the motion drawing all the right attention to all the right things--the slink of her dark hair, the mouthwatering curves of her sides, the little dimples above the hem of her panties, the slim, taut muscles in her legs. She brought her hands up and tossed her hair a bit before turning around with exquisite slowness. The scarlet bra was doing exactly what it had been made to do, which was making her breasts look about as delicious as fresh peaches right off the tree in summertime. She had a navel stud, a ruby one, glinting enough to break up the long, flat surface of her abs. I wasn't sure if it was part of her anatomy as a White Court vampire or a dancer, but either way, I approved vigorously. Actually, the thought that she worked hard to maintain such luscious athleticism turned me on far more than the vampire part. I admired the hell out of women who could take care of themselves. Hell, I patted myself on the back every time I bent over to pick up my shoes.

She stepped onto the little platform in the middle of the semi-circle where the ever-important pole was and wrapped one lovely leg around it, dipping low and rising, her eyes half hidden as her dark hair cast shadows across them. She left one hand on it and leaned back in a perfect arch, her other toe delicately pushing so that she turned in a circle. Then she leaned completely into an almost backhand spring, her hands flat to the platform to hold her upside-down, her legs wound about the pole in an awe-inspiring show of strength and coordination. All while that honeyed voice kept singing, never missing a beat.

 _"You sit down wonderin' what it's all about_  
_You ain't got no money_  
_They will put you out_  
_Why don't you do right_  
_Like some other men do?_  
_Get out of here_  
_And get me some money too..."_

The music kicked into the instrumental part of the song. Belle pulled her upper body from the vertical position and stood once more, facing me. She reached back and caught her left foot in one hand--exclusively a ballerina pose, I recognized--and spun again with her spine perfectly balanced against the pole, and then stretched out with her calf holding her upright. The control and grace of the movements left me breathless.

She reached up and pulled herself higher, twisting upside-down again to let herself slide along, then before she could touch the ground, she was upright again and on her haunches, a little wicked smile on those soft lips, the movement drawing unstoppable attention to the valley between those lovely thighs. She flicked her curls out of her eyes and pushed to her feet once more, hovering closer than before, but not close enough to touch. My fingers itched with the urge to indulge, but I sat as still as possible, like a good spectator.

 _"If you had prepared twenty years ago_  
_You wouldn't be wanderin' now from door to door_  
_Why don't you do right_  
_Like some other men do?_  
_Get out of here and get me some money too..."_

Belle rocked her hips, one hand on the left one, a teasing smile on her lips as she cooed the final lines, pointing a playful, accusatory finger at me.

 _"Why don't you do right_  
_Like some other men do?_  
_Like some other men do?"_

She stepped off the platform and straddled me, her hands on either side of the cushion, singing the last line a mere breath away from kissing me.

_"Like some other men do?"_

The big band played its final note. She hadn't broken a sweat and wasn't even breathing hard. And she was the only one in the room that way.

Belle lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head expectantly. "Well?"

"Encore?" I said weakly.

She laughed again, a little surprised one. Maybe she'd expected me to say something else. It was all I could think of, on account of my brain being a soggy pile of mush oozing out of my ears by now. I tried again, since she was an artist, and sure as hell deserved my feedback.

"Seriously, that was... _amazing_. You have an insane amount of talent."

"Hmm," she said, sitting back on my thighs, which only made the view even better. Focus, Harry. "No backhanded compliment about why I'm taking off my clothes for men instead of being a ballerina? You're surprisingly progressive, Harry."

"You wouldn't think that if you were in my head right now," I admitted, and her eyes sparkled gleefully at the comment. "I imagine that gets awful tiresome to hear from your clients."

"That it does," she sighed. "But I'm also taking them for a good five hundred dollars a dance, so I get the last laugh anyway."

Oof. Boy, I wonder how fast she was. Maybe I could run before she realized I in no way had that much cash on me. "Uh."

Belle chuckled. "Relax, big fella. I asked you for the dance, remember? You don't owe me anything for it."

I arched an eyebrow. "Isn't that the whole point?"

"For normal clients, sure," she said absently, flicking a lock of hair out of my eyes. "This one's on the house. Thank you."

"For what?"

She smiled, and there was a kind of gentleness in it that I'd rarely seen within the White Court. "For appreciating the work I put into this. Not just...seeing me, I suppose. It's rare. I want for nothing, being what and who I am, but it's always a nice reprieve to meet a man in here, not just a boy."

I let myself relax into a little smile. "Anytime."

She hesitated, chewing the edge of her lower lip, and for a second, I couldn't look at anything else, even with a veritable buffet of other wondrous things to see. "Can I ask a personal question?"

"You're sitting in my lap," I said wryly. "Ask away."

Belle's hands lowered to my chest, a palm on each pectoral, not groping me or anything, just resting them there as if trying to feel something. My pulse shot into the thousands, maybe the millions, and my head fogged up with the most inappropriate thoughts I could possibly harbor.

"You're hungry," she whispered. "Not the same way that I am, but still hungry of a fashion. Why haven't you sated it?"

"Well, I had some hot wings earlier--"

She covered my mouth with her hand and gave me an exasperated look. "I'm being serious, Harry."

I cleared my throat and she lowered her hand, her stare intense. "I...my job makes it somewhat difficult to meet women, first of all, and there is..."

I licked my lips. "...an object of my affections, let's say, who isn't interested in me the same way I'm interested in her. And maybe I'm not exactly over it just yet."

Belle shook her head a bit, a flicker of sadness in her expression. "You... _ache_ for it. I can feel it."

I bristled then. "I'm not a meal, if that's what you're getting at."

"I'm not talking about food and you know it," she said sharply, and I realized I'd insulted her. Good one, Harry. "Stop deflecting. Why? Why isolate yourself this way?"

"Necessity," I said finally. "Sex complicates things."

"Everything shouldn't be easy, you know."

"It seldom is."

Belle shut her eyes for a second. "I just...think it would benefit you to think it over. Not every White Court vampire you meet will be as considerate as I am. This room is filled with men lusting, and yet you commanded my attention from the moment you stepped inside this building."

She ran her hands up to my shoulders and massaged them gently. I almost melted into a wizard-shaped puddle like a cartoon character. Hell's bells, that felt nice. "Such pain and frustration leaves a mark, a scent, on your soul, Harry. I urge you to reconsider."

"Trust me," I whispered before I could stop myself. "I'm considering it pretty seriously right now."

She licked her lips, and the shade of her eyes turned paler and paler as a wistful sigh escaped. "Empty night. Now I know why Lara covets you so, wizard."

Stars and stones. I really wished she hadn't said that, because I'd be hearing it on repeat in my head for the next six months, possibly longer. My libido roared at me to do something about it, but I knew that was a slippery slope I'd never come back from. "I should go."

"Yes," she murmured, holding the s-sound enough that it sent pleasant little shivers up and down my spine. "Flee my company, dear wizard, for if you stay, I will do such things to you that you will renounce God and all His allies and spend eternity in my lap."

I paused. "That actually sounds pretty amazing."

Belle smiled again, wide and pretty and girlish, a chuckle in her throat. "Thanks for the dance, Harry."

She leaned in just enough to brush her lips against mine. In that second of sensation, time froze. I saw, in a perfect high-definition montage, all the lovely, sacrilegious, salacious, hot, dirty, filthy things she wanted to do to me, and that she wanted me to do to her, and felt them all at once in every nerve ending my body possessed. It left me gasping, head swimming, tingling from head to toe, as if we'd done that whole laundry list of wicked things for the past few hours.

Belle stood and walked to the curtain, drawing it back, and winked at me over her shoulder. "Don't be a stranger."

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Weird, right?
> 
> I know part of this fic came from a place of wanting good things for Harry. Not even things that happen more than once or are a continuation, but dammit, he just deserves to be himself and have nice moments. And I really do think he'd be a bit nervous in a strip club and something like this would get him to relax, if it's the right circumstances. And we have seen that not all White Court vampires are treacherous and evil and have hidden agendas. 
> 
> But what do I know? I think I'm just fishing in the dark sometimes.


End file.
